Comp{lex}

(a collective piece inspired by the "round-robin" poets - thanks everyone :) A chalky schoolbus rattled the dusty plane Leaving smoke outside the door of the cottage Alarms signalled something was wrong Ashen whispers reached our tongues and began to suffocate “God I can’t breathe,” she said, “not that I ever could” Came the reply, “I’ll burn your throat if you scream again.” But the song itself was more searing than the hottest iron, so she raised her voice Crooning the song of white beards and frayed kerchiefs Of a world she never knew A pain she had no right to That lulled us to sleep with its accented smoker’s croak Sending us away down the rusted tracks into sleep's fiendish arms Past your childhood cottage. No stopping to wave hello to Babi "Childhood eez an American fable" We were never allowed fables She would paint her own With unforgiving blacks and scalding charcoal that dotted her pallete Who knew black spanned so many shades? So she cackled with

No, I won’t take off my mask. It’s mine, it’s more: it’s me. You ask an impossible task; why should I let you see? Do you have any idea what’s under here? I bet you think you do. I let you see what you need to see, or what I what I feel you do. No, I can’t take off my mask. I’m telling you, it’s stuck. Pull as hard as you’d like; trust me: I’ve tried. Good luck. It’s seeped into my skin, and hardened like cement Of months and years of pulls and tears, its tight grasp’s left a dent How does one take off a mask? Just let the whole world in? But I don’t want all chapters read; I need my plastic grin. A hidden chamber’s cheapened without the curtains drawn. So instead I’ll wear a cheap mask; look at that. Problem gone. I know I’m more than a mask. The question is: do you? I do feel trapped inside facades I wish I could slip through. It’s not always so pretty, beneath this mask of mine. My core’s not made of lemongrass; winds storm beneath “I’m fine.” A compl

I. Mindfulness [ mahynd - fuh l-nis] noun: a technique in which one focuses one's full attention only on the present, experiencing thoughts, feelings, and sensations but not judging them. Judge [juhj] verb: to infer, think, or hold as an opinion; conclude about or assess. Opinion [ uh - pin - yuh n) noun: a belief or judgement that rests on grounds insufficient to produce complete certainty. Insufficient [in- suh - fish - uh nt] adjective: deficient in force, quality, or amount; inadequate. Quality [ kwol -i-tee] noun: character or nature, as belonging to or distinguishing a thing. Thing [thing] noun: some entity, object, or creature that is not or cannot be specifically designated or precisely described. Object [ ob -jikt] noun: a thing, person, or matter to which thought or action is directed. Person [ pur -suh n] noun: a human being, whether an adult or child. Child [chahyld] noun: a person between birth and full growth; a boy or girl. Growth [gro

Liquid life drip drips through her vein Silly needle: suck the death out ; insisting she drink from your aseptic spout makes her ankles swell I swallow my gaze with shame Hands in lap, smelling of sanitizer, as if to say “I am your friend, no we haven’t met.” Pencilled in till nine Beautiful creature, just past forty nine With innocence taken, does youth come in vain “A winter storm's brewing,” for something to say Gaunt, sterile windows shut all nature out “No snow for me this time: no boots, what a shame” With lopsided smile that makes my throat swell Today's blood test's harvest glistens and swells Stroking the screen, her redhead at nine She laughs, her robe opens with none left for shame I bend down to close it, know it’s in vain I open her juice, sponge spills and throw out Mostly speak softly till nothing's left to say “You look good this morning!” white lying, I say “Thank you” at pause comes a grimace, “feel s’well

With lights switched off the coast is deemed as clear The rise and fall of children’s chests grows deep Her auburn tresses pulled behind her ear Her skirt smoothed down, gun locked in place, takes leap Her charcoal wings unseen against the night In picture books she always fluttered pink She reaches, gropes and grabs it, pearly white She drops it with the others with a “clink” She smells less so of bubble gum than rust Not pixies but the gremlins does she join And to those kindly children who so trust She recommends you double check that coin A treasure for her chamber wall’s neat stack A child’s mind so supple in the black Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Softly softly Pierced by a roar In 11:35 darkness, damp with the smell of cigarette butts and Silence again. Footsteps on the platform Echo as doors again lock hands An eye to the uptown entry Fresh falsetto and a father's alto Woven tight as cross stitched corduroys A bundle in his bear arms "Down came the rain and washed the spider out" With no glance at the small hand on the clock Or the figure beneath it Keeping watch above the N A rejected little shadow In vivid conversation with Moon-colored strands tangling with intention In sacred dance with An unexpected wizard Keeping watch with content With a glance at the rascal spinning the clock "Out came the sun and dried up all the rain" A banjo in his bare arms Frank as the holes in his sun bleached jeans Brows turned in, a grown-man's hymn to another creature on a thread An eye to the downtown entry He pokes at the brim of his overturned cap No treasures today fill its fraying s